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JIMMY-BOY 
RECRUIT 

AND OTHER VERSES 






COLTON 





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COPiTilGHT DEPOSm 



JIMMY BOY RECRUIT 



Copyright 1918, by Harrigan Press, Inc. 



Jimmy-Boy Recruit 

AND OTHER VERSES 



BY 

JOSEPH K. COLTON 

1» 



HARRIGAN PRESS, Inc. 

WoRCESTEK, Mass. 
19 18 



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Contents 

PAGE 

Jimmy-Boy Recruit ....... 9 

Lieutenant Fogarty . . . . . . . 11 

His Choice of Colors . . . . . . . 12 

Dad's Best Gift ........ 13 

To Riley .14 

The Third Officer 15 

Drafted 16 

The Comforter ........ 18 

Your Loss — and Mine . . . . . . 19 

The Sad Stranger ........ 20 

A Dividend . 22 

April 23 

Message of the Shamrock 24 

A Christmas Wish 26 

Thanks to Abe 28 

A Valentine 30 

Wake Up With Samuel 32 

Sputterings in Spring .34 

Her Solace 34 

A Visit from Uncle Sam 40 

Thanksgiving 42 

The Call of the Season 43 

Billy Goes to France 44 

An Introduction ........ 47 



• 

Just a Preference ....... 48 

Daredevil Zeke ........ 50 

The Optimist 52 

A Murmur from Maine ...... 54 

A Call to the Colors 56 

A Fishing Trip 57 

The Missed Parade 60 

Hi! Ho! 62 

After Lincoln ........ 63 

Fiddler and Fairies 64 

Another Friend Gone ....... 66 

The Salt of the Earth 67 

To Mr. Sellish-Stay-at-Home 68 

The Top of Her List : 70 

The Player of Pranks 72 

With the Roses 74 

To a Mother 75 

The Fortunate Kids ....... 76 

Safe in Port 78 

This Thanksgiving ....... 80 

A Christmas Box for Cy . . . . . 81 



JIMMY-BOY RECRUIT 

AND OTHER VERSES 



JIMMY-BOY, RECRUIT 

Baker Street is lonesome and Baker Street is sad, 
And Baker Street is sighing for the best old pal it had, 

But Baker Street is holding up its head against the sky 
And Baker Street is justly proud — and I can tell you why! 

He's back in town, he's home again, our Jimmy-boy recruit, 

He gave his old civilians for a nifty khaki suit, 

They took his measurements and then they gave him their 

"O. K." 
And he came back to tell me all about it yesterday. 

O Jimmy-boy is young in years and Jimmy-boy is gay. 
And many a night he's frolicked and danced the hours away. 
And many a little lady he blarneyed with will cry 
When he goes down the avenue and waves a brave goodby ! 

He talked about the coming of the time to muster in. 

He knew what he was facing and he wore a cheerful grin. 

He joked about enlisting and the fright he gave his dad 

When he went home in uniform — the only son they had ! 

And when their talk was finished and the folks had gone to bed 

And shadows crept around the door and in the darkness fled. 

While Jimmy-boy lay dreaming of the things that were to be, 

The glory of his country and his part to keep it free. 

His mother, in the next room, wide awake, could hear the roll 

Of mighty drums of Freedom — and she prayed for Jimmy's soul. 



10 Jimmy-Bo'^, Recruit 

Then morning came and breakfast and parting time at last 
And Jimmy-boy shook hands with Dad, who held his fingers 

fast, 
Who looked into his youngster's eyes and gripped his shoulder 

hard, 
Just like a man would do to one who'd been a loyal pard ! 
And curly-headed sister — she was much too small to know 
That Jimmy-boy had heard the caU — and Jimmy-boy must go ! 

Then Jimmy kissed his mother, who clung to him and cried, 
And slowly wiped away the tears to look at him with pride. 
And all the anguish in her heart seemed vanished then and there, 
Her Jimmy-boy was first to go — and first to do his share ! 

Baker Street is lonesome and Baker Street is sad, 
And Baker Street is sighing for the dearest pal it had, 

But Baker Street is holding up its head against the sky, 
And Jimmy-hoy, Enlisted Man! He is the reason why! 



LIEUTENANT FOGARTY 

It's Lieutenant Fogarty now! 

Then give him good luck, say I ! 
He's found his right place with the fighting race 

Out under the Plattsburg sky. 
It's Lieutenant Fogarty now. 

The regular army — wow ! 
Then ho for his pep and his stiff proud step, 

It's Lieutenant Fogarty now ! 

It's Lieutenant Fogarty now ! 

A credit to all, say I ! 
He'll soon have his chance in the trenches 
of France, 

And then watch the Germans fly ! 
His typewriter's covered with dust. 

He's out of the routine and row, 
He's in the elect and he's got our respect. 

Has Lieutenant Fogarty now! 

It's Lieutenant Fogarty now ! 

Born to the battle, say I ! 
He's doing his bit and he never will quit 

When bullets are breezing by! 
It's Lieutenant Fogarty now. 

He's making his army bow ! 
Then here's a good word for a man from 
the herd, 

It's Lieutenant Fogarty now ! 

11 



HIS CHOICE OF COLORS 

To-morrow ! Sure, 'tis Patrick's day, 
Ah, then will I be wearin' 
A precious bit of green upon the lapel of me coat ! 
An' through the street, me bucko ! 
I'll proudly go a-farin', 
A smile upon me face but O ! a gulpin' in me throat ! 

*Tis true I'm gettin' older, 
God knows the time is flyin'. 
The children they be growin' and leavin' us alone ; 
An' I sit here, the wife beside. 
An' watch the evenin' dyin', 
A-dreamin' of the old days when I rambled in Tyrone ! 

The old days, the bold days ! when I was one-and-twenty, 

'Twas many a merry shindig I favored with me fist ! 
And pretty colleens, bless 'em ! they winked at me a-plenty, 

With eyes as bright as star mites that pierce the twilight mist ! 
And o'er the hills of Tyrone I walked come dawn of Sunday, 

The nine miles to mass I whistled with a will. 
An' off to the verdant fields I carried of a Monday, 

The kind Father's words — that linger with me still ! 
'Twas he who gravely cautioned when anger would beset me, 

Who gave me his counsel and told me for to go ! 
An' in the blessed free land, nor bitter foes to fret me, 

I've followed his teachings — and wish that he could know ! 

To-morrow ! Sure, 'tis Patrick's day. 
An' then will I be wearin' 
A precious bit of green upon the lapel of me coat. 
An' with the leaf I'll have — faith, 
I hope you'll all be starin' — 
The red and white and blue — to stop the gulpin' in me throat ! 

12 



DAD'S BEST GIFT 

I got a brand new briarwood pipe for Christmas, and a gun, 
And many other welcome gifts to help along the fun ; 
And while I'm glad to get them all, from smoking set to stool, 
The thing that pleased me most was that my boy was home 
from school ! 

I've worked my hands with earnest zeal, through years of pain 

and stress, 
And tried to start him off aright, so far with some success ; 
His mother's saved and pinched and starved, and taught the 

Golden Rule, 
And just like me, she's happiest when that boy's home from 

school ! 

He chats about his college, his teachers and his work ; 
He's not the kind to loaf around, to grumble or to shirk. 
He doesn't waste his time on cards, or playing kelly pool, 
He always stays with ma and me — my boy who's home from 
school ! 

He walks into the kitchen when his ma is cooking things ; 
He tells her funny stories and jokes with her, and sings. 
He cribs a cookie from the jar before it starts to cool. 
And then he steals a hug and kiss — that boy who's home from 
school ! 

And when he packs his grip and says goodby to her and me, 

It seems that half the joy of life goes, too, as company. 

And all that makes the game worth while, and lets me wield a 

tool, 
Is knowing that he'll soon be back — our boy who's off to school ! 

Take all the gifts away from me, and spare me ma and health, 
And if you leave my lad with me I will not ask for wealth ! 
I will not seek for high esteem, nor pray for power to rule, 
If I may have, each holiday, my boy, back home from school ! 

13 



TO RILEY 

O still the gardens bloom for us, 

And still the fairies dance, 
Upon the moon-lit greensward we 

May see them, if we glance. 
The little boys who run away 

Trudge bravely on the road, 
They do not fear a meeting with 

The vicious hoppy-toad ! 
In country kitchens orphans sweep, 

And in the dusk of night, 
They still will tell the tales about 

The gobble-uns that bite! 
And big black things that listen close 

To everything that's said, 
And creep upon the naughty child 

When he is put to bed ! 
Neat cottages we still may find 

Where two contented live. 
With life and love and cheerfulness 

And little else to give. 
And up above the sun still shines. 

The sky is just as blue — 
Yet O how brighter is the world 

For men the likes of you ! 



14 



THE THIRD OFFICER 

There's a liner clearing the harbor, pointing her nose to sea, 
And there's a lad aboard her who's taken his leave of me. 
Gone with a hearty hand-shake, eager to find his place, 
Under the towering funnels out where the sea birds race. 

Passing the channel lighthouse, flinging behind its smoke, 
The ship is leaving the passage and now is beginning to poke 
Its way through the mists of ocean, deep into the steamer lane, 
Trusting that God will pilot her safely to port again ! 

Lured to the mast and chart house, knowing the vessel's wheel 
As you and I know the sidewalk under our well-shod heel. 
Loving the blue of the waters, the white of the flying spray, 
Charlie would be a sailor, and Charlie has had his way. 

He said "So long" to his dad and laughed at his mother's fears. 
And sped to his duty man-like, nor waiting the sound of cheers, 
Modest and brave and willing and giving the best he can. 
Only a boy to his people, but to me, a whale of a man ! 



15 



DRAFTED 

He closed his cobbler shop last night, 
He's left his stool to go and fight, 
Joe Petrobon' ! 

Customers came to say good-by, 
Each with a soft light in his eye, 
Some with a smile, the rest a sigh, 
Joe Petrobon' ! 

He felt so queer when he was drawn ! 
He is not built of husk and brawn, 
Joe Petrobon' ! 

To leave the little comer shop. 
Business and pleasure, friends to drop — 
Ah, yes, he found it hard to stop ! 
Joe Petrobon'! 

And yet, now when it's time to start 
We find him set to do his part, 
Joe Petrobon' ! 

Italia's skies, they say, are blue. 
Under them hearts grow strong and true, 
They give us loyal lads like you, 
Joe Petrobon' ! 



16 



Drafted 1 7 

He closed his cobbler shop last night, 
Locked is the place, the windows tight, 
Joe Petrobon' ! 

His sign still hangs above the door. 
He'll find it there, just as before, 
When home again he comes from war, 
Joe Petrobon' ! 



THE COMFORTER 

The south wind comes shyly and whispers of Spring, 

I open the window to greet her; 
I feel her light touch on my cheek and I fling 

Off all of my troubles to meet her. 
She bids me walk over the road and the hill 

To a little brook hurdling the hollow — 
Forgotten the office, the street and the till, 

As, eagerly nodding, I follow ! 

The south wind comes softly, at morning and eve, 

And sweet is the comfort she carries ; 
She will not allow me to sigh or to grieve. 

But brightens each thought as she tarries ! 
I welcome her gladly, as one would a friend 

Whose loyalty time cannot sever ; 
I'd have her remain through the years, without end. 

And blow me her brightness forever! 



16 



YOUR LOSS— AND MINE 

It's when a fellow goes away you miss him most of all, 
Sometimes you hardly notice him if he's within your call, 
You like him and you know he's here and now and then you 

chat. 
You buy a smoke, exchange a word, and let it go at that. 
Sometimes you nod, just barely speak, and even scowl ! — but say 
Your view is altogether changed when that chap goes away. 

It's when a friend has left the flock that things are not the same, 
You join a group and listen close when some one calls his name, 
It matters not how far he's gone, or where his fancy leads. 
You want to hear that he is well, you hope for worthy deeds, 
Day after day you feel your loss and you cannot refrain 
From wishing that a kindly Fate would send him back again. 

Last night I heard that one had sailed, bound over seas to give 
His services that men in need might have a chance to live. 
Perhaps the same stars I have seen looked down upon his ship 
And flashed to him my wishes for a safe and pleasant trip. 

Back home you will hold musicales, occasionally you'll dance, 

The young will patter down the path of brief but sweet ro- 
mance, 

The old town hall will sway with song and drums will swell the 
din. 

But most of you will miss his smile and all — ^his violin ! 



19 



THE SAD STRANGER 

He was a stranger and his nose 

Was redder than the rose that grows 

In June gardens ! Sunday was the day, 

When gentle folk went forth to pray. 

I watched them, noting how they dressed, 

All in their rags de joie — their very best ; 

Their happy faces shining as they filed. 

They looked about, were satisfied, and smiled. 

A genial lot ! Wrapped in the sweet content 

Of loving life ! No worries over rent, 

No fears that on the morrow there would come 

The landlord and his like, to make them glum ! 

Let butchers knock outside the kitchen door 

And grocers fling their bills upon the floor! 

They'd pay them all ! They were supremely glad ! 

The stranger gazed — yet stayed subdued and sad ! 

I pondered. Why, with all this sunshine near 

Does this man stay morose ? And when a tear 

Rolled down a bristly cheek and fell 

Into the snow, methought he was not well ! 

The deep, fraternal love within my breast 

Then spurred me on, I tapped him on the chest. 

"Brother," said I, "Come, why the weeps and woe, 

When all about you grins and gladness go? 

Why do you sob when rays of sun descend 

To bathe the streets in glory, end on end?" 

A painful moment then ! He slowly turned 

20 



The Sad Stranger 21 

His bleary, beady eyes wherein there burned 

The deep desire of a mind distrait, 

That wandering on, had blundered to its fate ! 

He moved his lips, a dull voice struggled through, 

And lo ! The reason came why he was blue ; 

Why he drooped there, an object weak and wan ! 

dreadful day! The lid, the lid, was on! 

He sobbed anew ! The wind blew o'er the street, 
Rocking his thirsty frame from head to feet, 

1 pressed his hand in pity, said goodbye 
And went my way, a tear-drop in my eye ! 



A DIVIDEND 

It's funny how much sunshine a little check can bring ! 

It brightens up the byways to our hearts and makes us sing. 

Just a narrow slip of paper, with a few words writ thereon. 

But O ! it is the fairest that our eyes may look upon ! 

The frowns that may have gathered, with the fears we often 

face, 
All vanish when we see it and bright smiles beam in their place, 
And the troubles that pursued us through the channels of the 

night 
Turn about and flee in terror when the slip sails into sight ! 
Then we find ourselves encircled by a rosy ring of joy. 
Like a laddie with his first love or a baby with a toy ! 
All the gladsome, golden glamor of a world that's full of bliss 
Envelopes us completely when we get a gift like this ! 

Not that I care much for money! Though it's nice to have 

around, 
Yet it doesn't form the framework for most happiness, I've 

found ! 
Give me just a share for living and another bit for books, 
And let me have a little time to follow buds and brooks, 
And you may have the pageantry and wonderment of wealth, 
While I will find contentment in simplicity and health ! 
For the little slip of paper they have given me today, 
Brings home to me a message in a most impressive way, 
It's to do one's work sincerely and to do one's level best, 
And the One who watches o'er us will look after all the rest ! 



22 



APRIL 

April's jus' the month fer me, though ol' Winter's finger 
In the hill-side brooks, once dipped, tries right smart to linger, 
Temperchure goes skippin' up, warm rain comes a-skelter. 
My' ol' April's touch is sweet ! You know ! Ain't ye felt 'er? 

April's jus' the month for me ! Thirty days of gladness. 
Meanest man don't have much chance planning acts of badness, 
Buds a-burstin' on the trees, promisin' a summer 
Full of honey, birds and bees, like as not a hummer ! 

April's jus' the month fer me, then the law is leenyent. 
Says "Get all the trout ye want." Wal, it's mos' conveenyent ! 
Makes no differunce to me if there's work a-pilin'. 
Can't sit idly by and see troutin' days a-spilin' ! 

April's jus' the month fer me, jus' the same for Sandy, 
Got a whole new outfit now, rod's sure a jim-dandy ! 
Didn't cost a great deal, but had to quit my smokin' 
So as I could get the cash — had to stand sum jokin' ! 

April's jus' the month fer me ! Where the best stream's flowin' 
Me and Sandy, Sandy's boss, that's where we're a-goin' ; 
Tackle, rubber boots an' all's ready for the mornin', 
We'll be oif and 'cross the hill 'fore the day's a-bornin' ! 



23 



MESSAGE OF THE SHAMROCK 

Dear little sprig of shamrock, 

So wholesome, fresh and green, 
You bring to me the fairyland 

That I have never seen; 
The fairyland where silver 

The rivers are, that run 
Through pleasant emerald valleys 

Beneath a smiling sun ! 

My own folks ! How they loved it ! 

When twilight dropped its fold. 
They gathered in the living room 

To tell the tales of old ; 
The stories of the fairies 

That filled us with delight. 
Or of the moaning banshee 

That turned our glee to fright ! 

Along this magic twilight road 

From out the dim-lit past 
Came proudly Erin's famous men, 

Brave-hearted to the last ! 
I heard them mock the tyrant's word 

I saw them fight — and fall ! — 
And underneath beloved sod 

They 'wait the final call. 



24 



Message of the Shamrock 25 

No longer, in the gloaming, 

I listen to the tales, 
For they who sang the old songs 

Have passed to other Vales. 
But still, within me, I can feel 

The spirit bid me go, 
And wander where, on sacred earth 

St. Patrick's shamrocks grow ! 

Dear little sprig of shamrock, 

So wholesome, fresh and green. 
You bring to me the fairyland 

That I have never seen ; 
The fairyland where silver 

The rivers are, that run 
Through pleasant, emerald valleys 

Beneath a smiling sun ! 



A CHRISTMAS WISH 

Five dollars for Christmas! 

A wonderful sum ! 
Enough to buy soldier suits, 

Swords and a drum ! 
Enough to bring comfort, 

Excitement and joy, 
Through long winter months 

To any small boy! 

Five dollars for Christmas! 

When I was quite small, 
I seldom was noticed 

By Santa, at all ! 
I used to hang stockings 

Behind little stoves. 
Expecting at morning 

To find gifts in droves ! 

Five dollars for Christmas ! 

Then, what would it buy? 
To my childish mind. 

All things under the sky ! 
The door of my castle 

Of dreams opened wide. 
For the bills were the key 

To the glories inside! 

26 



A Christmas Wish 27 

Five dollars for Christmas 

I never received ! 
And sometimes I smiled, 

But more often I grieved ; 
For it's hard to be poor, 

And much harder it seems, 
When one is inclined to 

Be faithful to dreams ! 

Five dollars for Christmas ! 

I'd like to go back 
For one Christmas eve, 

To a weather-worn shack, 
I'd like to creep up 

The uncarpeted stairs, 
And leave a crisp bill 

For a boy unawares ! 



THANKS TO ABE 

Our country's overflowing with the best there is in life, 

Thanks to Abe. 
It's free from brute oppression and wrong fraternal strife, 

Thanks to Abe. 
We go about our daily tasks, an independent race. 
The labor of a free-man, right cheerfully we face, 
An autocrat's command to us would be much out of place, 

Thanks to Abe ! 

We know the Declaration was drawn up for every man, 

Thanks to Abe. 
The sun, the birds, the flowers all are here for every clan, 

Thanks to Abe. 
The roads that ramble through the woods we all may gaily 

stroll, 
Nor fear forbidding orders, nor pay unreasonable toll, 
And go our way in happiness until we reach our goal, 

Thanks to Abe ! 

The children learn in school today the love of liberty. 

Thanks to Abe. 
They know God chose this country for a stronghold of the free, 

Thanks to Abe. 
They know the men before him each gave loyal heart and hand. 
To unify our people and to make us great and grand 
Among the nations of the world — and there today we stand ! 

Thanks to Abe ! 

28 



Thanks to Abe 29 

Old Glory ripples proudly in the breezes up above, 

Thanks to Abe. 
And none may view its flowing folds without a thrill of love, 

Thanks to Abe. 
He's gone to his reward, where he has found the peace and rest 
The Lord denied him here on earth, his name forever blessed ! 
So with the millions, I today have gratefully expressed 

Thanks to Abe ! 



A VALENTINE 

She rummaged through a trunk and found 

A quaint familiar Valentine, 
Of lace-work made, and bordered round 

With cupid shapes and hearts divine, 
'Twas covered with the dust of years, 

Turned partly yellow from its age, 
But through a filmy veil of tears 

She read the message on its page : 

"I send you this in blissful hope 
That in the darkness I may grope 
No longer. Love, this Valentine 
I send, to ask you to be mine, 
I seek no more from Him above, 
Just you alone, and all your love !" 

A little lady, grown quite gray, 

A bit old-fashioned, if you please, 
Finding the path to yesterday 

In that dim attic on her knees. 
Her secret I will share with you, 

Because it tells a story sweet 
Of lovers twain forever true, 

Dear ones whom you'd delight to meet. 



30 



A Valentine 31 

The precious token tightly held, 

In wrinkled hands that trembled so 
Was but an instrument to weld 

The present with the long ago. 
We must forgive her if she cried, 

For in that musty, cob-webbed room 
The ghosts of by-gone days abide 

And haunt the chamber nooks in gloom ! 

How long she dreamed I cannot tell, 

But supper came and she was missed, 
And Grand-Dad worried quite a spell 

Until they found her, and she kissed 
His fears away. And in his hand 

She placed the crumbling Valentine. 
God grant a gift as pure and grand 

May some day come to thee and thine ! 

"I send you this in blissful hope 
That in the darkness I may grope 
No longer. Love, this Valentine 
I send, to ask you to be mine. 
I seek no more, from Him above. 
Just you alone, and all your love !" 



WAKE UP WITH SAMUEL 

Samuel Speed was free and easy everywhere he went, 
Right and left his hard-earned money Sammy gaily spent, 
Auto parties hither, thither, down to Boston town, 
Sammy led the joyful riders, doing things up brown. 
Every week-end found him answering Dissipation's call, 
Baseball, bowling, pool and poker — Samuel tried them all. 
Once a month he made a winning — yet when all is said, 
Monday morning found him yearning for the cash that fled. 
Rainy days gave him no worry, let 'em come, said he, 
They will disappear as quickly, I'll go on a spree. 
Thus he used his leisure hours, fearing not the day 
When old age his steps would hinder, and his hair grow gray. 

Sprinting off to work one morning, Samuel saw a friend 
In whom all the season's glories fitly seemed to blend, 
Long ago had Sammy spied her, long ago he'd tried 
To convince her that she really ought to be his bride. 
Common sense ruled this fair maiden, she was wise and knew 
All about the young man's habits — and she told him, too. 
Told him he must change his methods, walk a different track, 
When he did, why then perhaps — perhaps — she'd take him 
back! 

Sammy bought a paper mornings at the corner stand, 

So he knew about the trouble with the Kaiserland, 

Fellows that he knew and chummed with, full of life and fun, 

All had swapped the roof-tree's comforts for a tent and gun. 

They had heard what Sammy ignored — ^heard the call to serve. 

They had patriotic impulse, courage, faith and nerve ! 

32 



Wake up rvith Samuel 33 

Venturous, yet guided chiefly by the sense of right 
Toward relief of human suffering, they had gone to fight. 
Prolonged pleasures and privations mentally they weighed, 
And deciding, faced the future, flushed, but unafraid. 
Not for them the tinkling glasses or the clicking balls 
On the billiard table rolling — when Old Glory calls ! 

Sammy read about their going with a troubled mind, 
And it stirred within a feeling, queer but undefined, 
For each day brought new departures, hand-shakes, smiles and 

tears, 
While the Army and the Navy claimed the chums of years. 
From the corner and the club-room, from the gay cafes 
All his intimates were missing — wooed to other ways. 
Parties, yes, but mostly strangers, scarce a soul he knew. 
And he heard no shouts to "Join us !" as he wandered through. 

So it went, until the day came Samuel Speed awoke. 

And all records of recruiting speedily he broke, 

People gawped in great amazement as he sped along, 

Earnestness upon his featvires, in his heart a song. 

So he signed enlistment papers — he will do his bit — 

You, who cannot, will not, follow — you must make his kit ! 

You can save and you can spare it, you MUST find a way. 

If it be but fifty dollars bring it forth TODAY ! 

Be not guided by another, think now for yourself. 

Take the little hoard of savings from the kitchen shelf. 

For the town and state and country, for your own great pride, 

All this selfish thought of interest swiftly cast aside ! 

Be a loyal man, or woman ! Grateful? Show it, please ! 

It's the quickest way of bringing Wilhelm to his knees. 

It's the surest way of keeping Liberty aflame. 

Buy a bond Today ! Tomorrow ! or bow down in shame ! 



SPUTTERINGS IN SPRING 

A is for April, 

Now tearful, now pert; 
Then father gets busy 

And digs in the dirt. 

B is for Babies, 

Whose cheeks grow so red 
When wheeled in the sunshine 

The springtime has spread. 

C is for water carts. 

Sprinkling the dust. 
So apt to sail lightly 

With each passing gust. 

D is for "Divvies" 
Who live on our street, 

Our garden is tracked 
By the print of their feet. 

E is for Errands 

That Johnny must do 
Before he is learning 

To add two and two. 

F is for Flowers 

Of various kinds. 
They soften our sorrows 

And brighten our minds. 



34 



Sputterings in Spring 35 

G is for going 

The alphabet through. 
Let this be a warning 

Dear reader, to you. 

H is for Hitting 

A ball on the "nose ;" 
The harder Cobb hits it, 

The farther it goes. 

I is for Injuns. 

As a usual thing, 
A redskin has little 

In common with spring. 

J is for Jitney, 

A humble machine, 
Yet I can't have any — 

I haven't a bean. 

K is for Kissing. 

Fond lovers stroll out 
And act as if none 

But themselves were about. 

L is for Laughter, 

Sweet music and song. 
When April came tripping 

She brought them along. 

M is for Mud 

You'll find on the feet 
Of Hubby or Bubbie 

Just in from the street. 



36 Sputterings in Spring 

N is for Neighbors, 

Some good, and — some bad. 
Just let them alone 

And you'll never be sad. 

O is for Onions, 

Which, heaped on a steak, 
Are bully to eat, but 

Your tummy will ache! 

P is for Picking 

New suits for yourself, 
While the old winter raiment 

Is tossed on the shelf. 

Q is for Quarrel, 

Oh, unhappy noun! 
It's easy to start one 

In any old town. 

R is for tu-R-nips, 

And car-R-R-ots as well. 
How I can arrange this 

I never shall tell. 

S is for Strajdng 

To favorite brooks. 
And luring the trout 

From their watery nooks. 

T is for Tess's 

New bonnet of straw. 
Even girl friends admit 

That it hasn't a flaw. 



Spuiierings in Spring 37 

U is for Under 

The sod with the seeds, 
The pansy will shortly 

Be mingling with weeds. 

V is for Violets, 
Hid in the wood. 

We gathered them when 
We were little and good. 

W, friend, 

Is a letter we hate. 
And so we abandon it 

Now to its fate. 

X is for X, 

They use it sometimes 
In photos and scenes 
Of desperate crimes. 

Y is for You, 

And also for Yet, 
We're nearing the close 
Of the allafabet. 

Z is for Zizz, 

Gee-whiz-Z-es and such. 
Now tell us the truth, 

Have we wearied you much? 



HER SOLACE 

Somewhere in the Southland, 

Snatching your respite, 
Soldier in your slumber, 

Do you dream to-night? 
What then are you dreaming. 

Of dread war's decree? 
Or the day when proudly 

You'll come back to me? 

Yesterday you left me 

And I let you go, 
While the heart within me 

Pulsed and pounded so ! 
But I would not stay you, 

Would not have you lag, 
When your country called you, 

Called you to tlie flag! 

Par above are wondrous 

Beauties in the sky, 
But I cannot view them. 

Soldier, if I try; 
I can only see you 

Marching down the street. 
And my poor heart trampled 

Underneath your feet! 



38 



Her Solace 39 

Sitting in the shadows 

I cannot repress 
Tears of tender mixture, 

Caused by your caress ; 
Was it war we needed 

Now to point the way, 
Out of tiny troubles 

Toward a brighter day? 

All the childish quarrels, 

All the pride and pain 
Of the past have vanished. 

They'll not come again ! 
And the knowledge cheers me, 

Gives me strength to bear 
What the future offers 

For I know you care ! 



A VISIT FROM UNCLE SAM 

I dreamed that Uncle Sam was flesh, that in his spangled clothes, 
He came to visit me last night — that straightway I arose 
To bid him welcome and to pay the homage that was due 
Such a distinguished visitor, and I was trembling, too. 
Please do not think I was afraid — I love him far too much — 
*Twas just because he thrilled me with his nearness and his 
touch. 

I gave him some refreshments, then we sat and talked awhile, 
And above those queer chin whiskers he displayed the tend'rest 

smile, 
And told the brightest stories and he sang the sweetest songs — 
But the tenderness all vanished when I spoke of Belgian wrongs 
And there was no more of laughter and the melody was lost 
When we discussed the misery that the Kaiser's war had cost. 

He told me how he'd suffered with the men on alien sod, 
How he had wished to help them and had asked a way of God, 
He reflected on our portion and the burdens we must bear 
In the struggle for humanity — I saw his shoulders square, 
And his jaw was settled firmer and his body tense and set, 
Boding ill for any German that my Uncle Samuel met. 



"Darn," said Uncle Sam profanely, "I'll show them a thing or 

two. 
And I'll put them where they ought to be, before I'm half way 

through, 
Thought they'd ketch me nappin*, that I couldn't turn a hand? 
Well, I'll fool the pesky critters who preside for Kulturland ! 



40 



A Visit From Uncle Sam 41 

Yes, I know I'll have my troubles gettin' started, for you see 

There is bound to be dissension in a mixed-up family 

Such as mine. But don't you worry, we'll be ready when it's 

time 
And we'll do our bit for Liberty in each and every clime ! 
Though I'm uncle to all races, black and white and red and 

brown, 
I'm betting not a mother's son will stoop to throw me down ! 
The President — Lord bless him! — is my right hand and my 

hope 
And with him to point the pathway, well, nobody'll have to 

grope, 
For he knows the situation and exactly what we need, 
Why, some fellows down in Congress act as if plumb off their 

feed! 
Back in seventy-six and sixty-one and eighteen ninety-eight 
Men volunteered and marched away — and few of them were 

late. 
But things have changed a lot since then, the country ain't the 

same. 
And problems such that wise heads know it's time to change 

the game ! 
The flag still flies the breezes and we'll always keep it there, 
But the fairest way in reason is for each to do his share. 
Show each lad his line of duty, let him carry what he can 
And he'll do the task assigned him if he's any kind of man." 



Then he left me. Hours after he had gone his fearless way, 
I woke to hear the robin sing his morning roundelay 
From the tree outside my window, as he finished, off he flew, 
But the funny dream persisted and I give it here to you. 



THANKSGIVING 

Displayed with vegetables and pies, 
A sight to ruin youthful eyes, 
Reposed a turkey, brown and hot, 
A royal dish. And there John "sot" 
And gaped, and heard, "Now John don't try 
To eat the dumplings with your eye. 
Just wait till pa can pass your plate, 
You act as though you never ate !" 
How John would blink and hang his head 
Until ma laughed at him and said, 
"Well, pa, I guess John can have his." 
And my! How Johnny's spirits "riz"! 

Thanksgiving? Sir, it's just the day 
To cheer me up, to make me gay. 
It substitutes a grin for tears 
And sends me hurdling o'er the years. 
Old friends come back to shake my hand, 
A genial smile lights up the land, 
I jump, I dance, I shout, I sing. 
Thanksgiving? Sir, it's just the thing! 

Sometimes November fails to do 

Its very best for all of you. 

Yet all the other months combined 

Cannot give us the joy we find 

Thanksgiving day. So let's be glad 

And make this one the best we've had ! 



42 



THE CALL OF THE SEASON 

There's a little brook rolling through meadow and wood, 

I can hear as I chat, 
And the snow and the ice melt away — as they should — 

And you're knowing all that. 
There's a calendar up on the old kitchen wall, 
With twelve months upon it, and out of them all 
It's April I'll swear by and stand by or fall — 

Are you with me, Kid Pratt? 

Let's forget for an hour there's war in the land, 

Let us banish black fear! 
Let's go out with a rod and a line in our hand, 

Where the water runs clear, 
Through the afternoon sunshine or early mom fog. 
We can scramble through brairs or wade in the bog, 
And stumble our way o'er the moss covered log, 

Sandy, Man do you hear? 

The days have been cold and the Spring's misbehaved, 

Soon will come the warm sun ! 
And when earth by soft rains is caressingly laved. 

Then the strippers will run! 
Then we'll pack what we need in the back of a team, 
And we'll drive the old mare to the head of a stream. 
And we'll fish to the edge of the evening star's gleam, 

With a sigh when it's done ! 



43 



BILLY GOES TO FRANCE 

"As a rule I'm not a talker and I keep things to myself, 
Staying mostly in the background, laid away upon the shelf. 
But there's times when I just simply have to speak what's on 

my mind, 
And I've picked you for a list'ner, if you'll sit there and be kind. 

We were sittin' in the kitchin, I was puffin' at my pipe, 
Jokin' ma about the pile of supper dishes she must wipe. 
When we heard the door bell ringin' and ma said I'd better go. 
For it might be company comin' and she wasn't dressed to show. 

Now it only took a minute but I pondered as I went, 
Could it be the landlord? No, for I'd paid the monthly rent, 
And we had no expectations of a visitor last night — 
Yet I did a heap of thinkin' while those seconds took their 
flight! 

For our only boy's at college, and I've worried quite a bit. 
Since we got into this trouble — and at night ma's apt to sit, 
In the small old-fashioned rocker, and though she don't say a 

word, 
I can tell just what she's thinkin', just as if I really heard. 

Well, I swung the door wide open and I saw a little chap 
In a blue, brass buttoned uniform and letters on his cap 
And the yellow slip he gave me filled me with a vast alarm. 
For I coupled it with mischief, and with sorrow, yes and harm. 

44 



Billy; Goes to France 45 

I took it in and found my specs and opened it and read, 
"Dear Pa and Ma. Here's love !" And then right after that, 

it said, 
"Am feeling fine. Have offer to drive ambulance in France 
And do my bit. I want to go. Will you give me the chance?" 

I look at ma, ma looked at me — then she broke down and cried 
And said she'd never let him go ! — at first, I took her side, 
For here we are, fast growin' old and hopin' he'd soon give 
The joy and comfort young ones can, to make folks glad to live. 

Just like the common run of lads, he wants to come and go. 
And lots of nights — and early morn — we've heard him there 

below, 
A-rummagin' in the pantry for a piece of pie or cake 
And chucklin' 'bout the playful callin' down he'd have to take ! 

No, he ain't a bit angelic, but he's good and clean and square 
In whatever he's gone into, he's been honest, open, fair, 
And we need his happy spirits and his boyish care-free ways 
And his laughter in the household, brightening up the gloomy 
days. 

After all, we can't be selfish, there are other things in life 
Than in seeking one's own pleasure, so I argued with my wife, 
Till at last she said if Billy-boy was bound to cross the sea. 
He could go and with a blessing from his mother, and from me. 

That decision, sir, will cost her sleepless nights and often pain, 
And, I reckon I won't whistle when I walk the fields again. 
For I'm sending him a wire and there's only one word, "Yes," 
And he'll be back home to say good-bye tomorrow night, I 
guess." 



46 Bill^ Goes to France 

They have called men to the colors and grim war is now at hand 
World's Democracy 's the slogan that has stirred the dormant 

land, 
You and I won't live to see it, but the time is bound to come, 
When there'll be no bugle calling and no rolling of the drum, 

There'll be harmony and freedom and of discord not a trace, 
And the world shall be a garden wherein all shall have their 

place. 
O, the road will be a rough one, built of human hopes and souls 
And it's boys like dad's own Billy who will help to pay the tolls ! 



AN INTRODUCTION 

Before you start for work today, 

I wish you'd meet a friend of mine. 
I'm honest with you when I say 

That you'll regret if you decline ! 
He isn't of a high estate ; 

Financially, he's not worth while, 
But you'll discover, if you wait, 

He has the widest, happiest smile ! 

This chap of whom I write is blessed 

With disposition gay and bright, 
I've put him through a daily test, 

He's just the same from morn to night ! 
Sometimes I think when he was bom 

God loved the blueness of his eyes, 
And in the beauty of the morn 

He sent him sunshine from the skies! 

So, just one minute, please ! I take 

The greatest pleasure doing this, 
Meet my friend, Gil! and, Gil please shake 

With all the readers! And don't miss 
A single one ! I want them all 

To grip your hand, to bask a while 
In your companionship and fall 

Before the onslaught of your smile ! 

No other object, he'll contend, 

Is fairer than a cheerful face. 
If you but grin, there'll be an end 

To many troubles in your race 
For daily sustenance. You'll strike 

A welcome where a frown once grew, 
And people whom you did not like 

Will do their very best for you ! 

47 



JUST A PREFERENCE 

I've heard people tell of the wonderful jam 

Their mothers preserved in the fall, 
How, when they were little, their stomachs they'd cram 

With jelly and doughnuts and all ! 
I've listened with eagerness while they have sung 

Of different dishes — they're fickle ! 
It's easy to see that when they were quite young, 

They never ate ma's mustard pickle ! 

The jam is at hand and the jelly's preserved 

In dainty array on the shelf. 
No doubt all the praise they receive is deserved, 

But I'll make a choice for myself ! 
I'll grant they're the finest put up in the land 

And many a palate could tickle. 
But I'll pass them by and hold up my right hand 

And ask for a helping of pickle ! 

The soft winds that blow in the springtime are there, 

The sunshine that seeps through the vines, 
And the murmur of meadowy grasses I'll swear 

I catch from the green on the tines! 
And the yellow will whisper of summer that fled. 

And the autumn that brought them together. 
And bid me be happy and wait for the tread 

Of April and blossomy weather! 

48 



Just a Preference 49 

And though when I write I am risking the wrath 

Of a lady I know very well, 
I'll bravely establish myself in her path, 

And willingly then will I tell, 
The same things all over I've written for you, 

The words will so easily trickle. 
And form a nice tribute that's honest and true — 

For ma's most beloved mustard pickle ! 



DAREDEVIL ZEKE 

"Zeke Jones, he hot an otmobile 

An' every evenin' at the wheel 

Zeke you could see, an' pr'haps his wife 

Occasion'ly would risk her life 

To go to ride. The neighbors sed 

Sum night they'd bring ol' Jones home dead! 

'Fore Jones he bot that ol' machine 

A caref'ler man I never seen. 

He stayed in nights and stroked the cat 

An' read his books and dozed and sat. 

He saved an' scrimped for thutty years 

An' never had no mortgage fears. 

Then one fine day he took his cash, 

(I don't claim now that Zeke was rash, 

Because if he had tried to drive 

The car half right, he'd be alive.) 

Well, as I sed, he spent his pelf 

An' bot that otto for hisself . 

They showed him how to work the clutch, 

To feed the gas, fix tires, and such, 

Till soon he ventured out alone — 

An' timid folks began to groan! 

Right after supper out would chug 

Daredevil Zeke. His bounding bug 

Fair whizzed along the village route 

Without the leetlest signal toot 

He took the left side for the right, 

50 



Daredevil Zeke 51 

He never lit his red tail-light. 

He killed nine dogs and one big caff 

An' gave the constable the laff ! 

He kept it up. He thought 'twas fun 

To scare old men an' make 'em run, 

An' lots of them began to think 

That old Zeke Jones had took to drink! 

But twan't no rum nor loco weed, 

'Twas just the germ of reckless speed ! 

Things went like that for quite a while 

And Zeke he et up mile on mile. 

Until one eve, at half-past eight 

He hit a tree, sad to relate ! 

They buried him ; the widow's grief 

Was viewed by all with great relief, 

For with old Zeke beneath the ground 

The highway would be safer found !" 

The moral's plain. When you go out 
In touring car or runabout. 
Remember that a road's no place 
To stage a thrilling auto race. 
Respect your neighbor's rights and pray 
That he will keep out of your way. 
This done, you'll be considered wise 
And get a rating in the skies. 



THE OPTIMIST 

I care not a jot for the jumble of weather 

That rides on the crest of the merciless wind, 

Which treats me as if I were naught but a feather — 
With each cutting blast it leaves winter behind. 

The snow may be driving and dripping and dragging, 
And covering sidewalks, the roofings and streets, 

It wastes all its bluster ! For soon will come tagging 
The brightest of months with her basket of sweets. 

I know that young April will weep into favor 

Before her successor spreads 'round me her charms, 

Why should I complain of the month's wintry flavor. 
Expressing uncalled-for and crabbed alarms? 

Each snowflake, that seized with abandon, goes whirling 

In riotous dance to a guttery doom, 
Drops not in the street, but a little brook purling 

Its way through the thickets where mayflowers bloom. 

The slush-covered streets turn to sun-softened courses. 
The sidewalks are paths where the rabbit has run. 

The snow piles are rocks, where with simple resources 
I've sat in contentment and fished in the sun. 



52 



The Optimist 53 

Vexations I have that will keep me quite busy, 
A few of them real — but I haven't the time 

To rail at the weather, until I am dizzy 

With wishing myself in a friendlier clime ! 

Come, laugh at the weather ! Don't let yourself grumble ! 

You'll worry yourself into trouble and bed. 
It's silly to sit by a window and mumble, 

And let foolish fancies get into your head! 

O, chronic complainer ! Look past the gray morning. 
It's only a curtain that's hung for a while ! 

The dreary-black sky is but God's way of warning — 
For back of it all is a song and a smile ! 



A MURMUR FROM MAINE 

Potatoes sixty 

Cents a peck ! 
The farmer holds 

The public's neck! 
"I may be green 

As grass," says he, 
"But 1 can make 

Them come to me !" 
They all can bleat 

When I blow down 
In high-top boots 

To tour the town, 
But in my jeans 

When I return 
I have their cash — 

And scads to burn ! 
I don't say much, 

I work the plow 
In early spring, 

And sweat my brow! 
With industry 

I fight the bug 
And at the weeds 

I tear and tug. 
In fall I load 

My carts and bin 
With handsome spuds — 

And how I grin! 



54 



A Murmur From Maine 55 

O, I'm a rube 

Way down in Maine! 
I seldom see 

A steam-car train. 
I wear my boots 

When I'm in bed 
And hayseed sprouts 

All o'er my head! 
I seldom went 

To district school, 
I look and act 

Like one dem fool I 
Oh yes, I need 

A nurse or two, 
To get along ! 

It makes me blue 
Yet when I read 

Of what you pay 
For my poor product 

Every day. 
It makes me smile 

And slap my leg, 
V/ho is the rube? 

Decide, I beg!" 



A CALL TO.THE COLORS 

You with the springy step of youth, 
The stalwart frame, the fighting jaw, 

What have you done to uphold Truth 
And sweep aside the tyrant's claw? 

You say you love the country's flag? 

Then here's a chance to show it ! 
From valley, plain and mountain crag 

Step out and let us know it ! 
Come, Six-feet-two of beef and brawn, 

Come, Five-feet-four, be ready, 
That through the land at early dawn 

You'll march on, strong and steady! 

You may have sailed from Erin's Isle, 

Perhaps your dad before you. 
In either case, I'll like your style, 

'Twill take a man to floor you ! 
You may be Swedish, Dutch or Finn, 

Polander, Jew or Russian, 
It matters not — if you'll chip in 

Your bit to balk the Prussian ! 

You love the flag. The starry square, 

The colored stripes of glory, 
That flying in the breezes fair 

Can tell their own brave story? 
So do we aU ! But yours the test. 

Ay, yours the loyal duty. 
To keep it safe o'er freedom's crest. 

The nation's pride and beauty ! 

You with the springy step of youth, 
The stalwart frame, the fighting jaw, 

You will not fail the call of Truth 
But smash for aye the tyrant's claw ! 

56 



A FISHING TRIP 

Wheu the last salute was given and Old Glory had been 
raised and the marchers in divisions for their showing had been 
praised and the crowds began to scatter toward the garden and 
the hoe, we hired Henry's Hazel and 'twas trout and stream- 
ward ho ! We headed for East Gardner, there to try a favorite 
brook, but the water wasn't deep enough to cover half the hook 
and the fish we saw last summer had departed — in their stead 
a lot of weeds and branches occupied the brooklet's bed. We 
tried for twenty minutes, but we spent the time in vain, though 
the little worm would wriggle in a manner most insane and 
we kept as still as mice that fear the cruel pussy cat, the tem- 
peramental trouties had gone off and left us flat. 

Well, said I to Sandy Dan'ls, we're a couple dad-blamed 
fools, we've got the ammunition and we've got the finest tools, 
there's bait and hooks and lines and all to last a million men 
— but the troutsies they have scorned us and they won't come 
back again. I guess you're right, said Sandy, and the gloom 
upon his face was enough to drive the sunshine from the bright 
and open space, for he had had a vision wherein thirty trout 
were laid in gleaming rows of silver for a neighborly parade! 
But some wise man has said it, and I'll say it here again, that 
there's many a thing may come between the plans of mice and 
men. 

We climbed the hill in silence, we were both afraid to speak, 
lest we raise our profane voices in harangue upon the creek, 
but the brown road stretched before us, we decided to forget the 
unpleasantness behind us, with the future to be met. Now 
Sandy knows the country enough to get around and we hustled 
toward another recollected fishing ground. Down in Whitman- 
ville, by hemlock, good old Scrabble Hollow brook; where un- 
selfish folk who own it have it posted, every nook ! We passed 
the fire station with its ancient, rusty bell and I wondered 
what would happen if I let a good-sized yell to awake the vil- 

57 



58 A Fiahing Trip 

lage confines, but I curbed my boyish whim, when the elongated 
Sandy swore he'd push me in the swim. 

We tied Hazel to a sapling and we wandered through the 
brush to the vast and deep annoyance of the starling and the 
thrush, and two hawks that hovered o'er us seemed to stretch 
destructive claws, as a hint of what would happen for ignoring 
trespass laws. We reached the clearing's edge and Sandy told 
me to look out, for there might be special guardians and con- 
stables about, officious, large-starred gentlemen with whiskers 
on their chin, but grips of steel on collars, though their badges 
may be tin ! Stay in the brush and hide yourself, said Sandy, 
then you see, the Whitmanville policemen might mistake you 
for a tree. We whipped the flowing rapids of the Scrabble Hol- 
low brook, across and through and up and down our vagrant 
way we took. The sun was warm, the wind was fresh, the earth 
smelled sweet and good, the little birds kept calling from their 
nest homes in the wood, and butterflies of yellow and of silver 
and of brown, came fluttering to charm me with each beautiful 
spring gown. And the squirrels and the chipmunks playing 
leap frog over head heard me bless the little fishes and I lis- 
tened as they fled. 

We stayed there half an hour, but that time was wasted, 
too, and the air right close to Sandy was approaching baby blue, 
when we pulled ourselves together and we tramped a boggy 
field, which judging from the tendency potatoes soon would 
yield. We found a bridge, we cast our lines and hoped with all 
our might that something would attack the worm, when sud- 
denly, a bite! And Sandy yanked and Sandy swore, the hook 
was black and clean and on the helpless bait can Sandy vented 
all his spleen. Cheer up, said I to Sandy, you've left me far 
behind, you've had a chance while I've been merely playing with 
the wdnd. Let me drop in and try my luck — and Sandy, good 
old soul, he gave me his permission to manipulate my pole. 

I got a little nibble and I looked for more to come, when 
I heard a chugging noise as of an auto engine's hum. The young 
man in the chugger he was pleasant, he was nice, asking if we 
had permission, and we told him in a trice that we hadn't 
and he told us we were on a private way, whereupon we thanked 
him kindly and we bade him a good-day. I wanted to remain 



A Fishing Trip 59 

there and to catch that sassy trout, but the wisest thing we did 
sir and that was promptly to get out. 

Again we sought the wagon and again we kept our peace, 
for there are times when chattering and idle words must cease ; 
but soon our spirits brightened with the shining of the sun 
and we aimed to strike another place where strippers romp 
and run. We wandered off the highway a couple miles or more 
but the day was so delightful that it couldn't make us sore. 
For we looked across the valleys to the misty, sun-kissed hills, 
with a kind of satisfaction that just tills one plumb with thrills. 
Forgotten were the failures of the hours that had passed as we 
rolled along enchanted, in the spell of spring held fast. 

Then we came upon the State road. Hazel quickened pace 
until she brought us to an old and long abandoned cider mill. 
In the pond beside the ruins where we made our final stab, all 
we caught was conversation from a chap chock full of gab, 
who sarcastically told us that three trout in 14 years had been 
taken from the mill-pond, thereby earning three good cheers. 
But we fished a couple minutes just to spite the gabby soul and 
we dragged a brace of shiners from the deep and muddy hole, 
and we threw them back disgusted and we pulled our rods 
apart and for paths traversed and Ashless then we made a run- 
ning start. 

True we carried home no trophies of the stream to show 
our friends and they jolly us for failing, but no part of it 
offends, for the deepest kind of pleasure lurks beneath the open 
sky — and some day you'll fill your basket if you try^ tri/, TRY! 



THE MISSED PARADE 

They missed the parade ! O, the broken hearts 

That lie in the wake of the circus carts ! 

Those ponderous wagons of shining gold, 

So wondrous indeed for a child to behold, 

Casting a spell and an age old charm. 

And filling us all with a vague alarm. 

Delighted we watch while the cages pass — 

Yet what would happen to laddie and lass 

If the doors swung out and the beasts were free ? 

They'd make them a meal of the kiddies — and me ! 

They missed the parade ! and for months before 
They had prodded their parents for circus lore. 
They asked about monkeys with snake-like tails. 
And wondered if seals were the cousins of whales 
Or only some dogs that fell into the brine 
And became what they were when they started to 

whine ! 
They asked did the elephants stay out all night, 
Or if they were wrapped up all cosy and tight. 
Tucked into white beds like themselves and could 

dream 
Of candy and peanuts and plates of ice cream? 
The lions and tigers, the leopards and bears 
Prowled under the cots and the nursery chairs, 
Scampering 'round in the dark of the night 
And giving the dreamers a terrible fright ! 

60 



The Missed Parade 61 

They missed the parade ! in the years to come, 
Life's path will be rosy and fair for some, 
They'll find them a wagon on which they'll ride 
To fame and to fortune — ^because they had tried? 
Because they were pluggers — or was it their luck, 
Combined with a dogged persistence and pluck? 
And others will dream, ever hopeful they'll wait 
To find they were wrong, misdirected or late, 
And the things they want most, like the circus parade 
Will loom up before them and glimmer — and fade ! 



HI! HO! 

Hi ! Ho ! Hi ! Ho ! With thirst we're near daft 

Like sailor lads wrecked on a rickety raft, 

Our tongues are cleaved fast to the roof of our mouth, 

Sure, how can weak mortals survive such a drouth? 

Hi ! Ho ! Hi ! Ho ! Ah Johnny, my boy. 

That cup that you bring us is brimming with joy ! 

Hi ! Ho ! Hi ! Ho ! What care we for weather? 
We're happy old chappy old chummies together, 
Let fire bells jingle and steam whistles blow, 
We're off to the country where primroses grow I 
Hi ! Ho ! Hi ! Ho ! And follow us swift, 
The way'll be steep — we'll be needing a lift ! 

Hi ! Ho ! Hi I Ho ! It's great to be living ! 

For joyous companions our thanks we are giving, 

For smiles and for sunshine, for warm wine that bubbles 

And sends us rejoicing away from Life's troubles — 

Hi ! Ho ! Hi ! Ho ! I'll give you a toast. 

Then here's to the health and the wealth of our host ! 



62 



AFTER LINCOLN 

A world of freemen — that was Lincoln's dream 
A league of brotherhood upon the earth, 
Shoulder to shoulder each to prove his worth, 
And have his bit of land beside Life's stream ; 
No potentates to rob or wreck men's hearts, 
No scourging whips — but fellowship and love, 
With gentle trust and faith in Him above. 
Welding the universe and all its parts. 

A world of freemen — that was Lincoln's dream. 
And some day, think you, will it come to pass? 
When some one like him stands from out the mass, 
To make the multitude a striving team. 
To pull away from sordid schemes of strife, 
Forgetting self and crushing fierce desire, 
Their souls re-kindled by a Heavenly fire. 
To find the way unto the joyous life ? 

A world of freemen! — that was Lincoln's prayer. 
Then look you now beyond the stormy seas. 
To where an army hearkening to the pleas 
Of ravished countries, keeps its vigil there ; 
Slowly but surely will that dream come true ! 
Although the earth be running red with blood 
In time no earthly force may stay the flood 
Of men of purpose with a vision new ! 



63 



FIDDLER AND FAIRIES 

When night comes on I watch the silver stars and dream my 

dreams, 
They build for me a homeland trail along the moon's bright 

beams, 
They bring me back to hours when oft I lay beside a stove 
And listened to my father's tales from out his treasure trove. 

He used to take me on his lap, he'd bounce me on his knee, 
He called me loving, foolish things like "Little Bunnum Dee !" 
He told me tales that made me laugh — and some that made me 

cry— 
Oh, there were many boys I know, not half as rich as I ! 

When night came on, I'd find a bag behind the bed-room door, 
Inside, an object long belov'd, a fiddle — nothing more, 
A fiddle that had crossed the seas, that knew a steerage crew, 
A fiddle that my father played while wild the sea v/inds blew. 

The tunes? I do not know their names, but I recall the spell 
He weaved for me in boyhood years — I know he played them 

well! 
A fiddle, battered, broken, old — yet with enchanted strains 
That brought the fairies dancing in to drive away my pains. 

The fairies! Ah, the mischievous! At evening in the glen 
My father told me, as he played, they dared the eyes of men, 
They danced across the bogs to where the roads went winding 

down 
Like ribbons white, from moon-lit hills, to many a sleeping 

town! 

64 



Fiddlers and Fairies 65 

They hid behind each tree and hedge, each fence and peeked 

inside 
Each cottage where the good folk slept — and as the bow would 

glide 
Across the strings I soon forgot that I was at his knee, 
But felt that I was one of them — and they were calling me ! 

Many a night I danced with them and many a night I sang, 
And roundabout and roundabout! until — the curfew rang! 
And many a night I wept because I had to leave them there, 
The fairies of the violin, around my father's chair ! 

There is no fiddle now to fetch when soft the shadows fall, 
But sweet it is, as night comes on, the old scenes to recall, 
I like to think again some day I'll find the little stove. 
And he will play and tell the tales from out his treasure trove ! 



ANOTHER FRIEND GONE 

Another friend gone ! Ay, early or late 
There comes the call to the farther gate, 
The sorrow and heart-ache, sighs and tears, 
The burdens borne through the bitter years 
Vanish — and who of us shall not say 
He has found in death a diviner day? 

Another friend gone? Then it's this I crave. 
Reward for the service of love he gave. 
For sacrifice made in the day and night, 
For babes he brought to the wondrous light, 
For kindly words and the pat on the back 
To the stumbling man on Life's hard track. 
For these and more — and who shall not say 
He has earned his part of the Father's pay? 

Another friend gone! Then peaceful his rest! 
Happy his journey to isles of the bless'd, 
Golden the fields of the land he may find, 
Peopled with folk as warm-hearted and kind. 
Give him sweet solace, please God, in Your way, 
Your love and Your mercy, for ever and aye ! 



66 



THE SALT OF THE EARTH 

Up there where angels keep the book, they write down every 

name, 
The poorest and the richest, the obscure, the known to fame. 
And some are cast in letters made of silver and gold. 
And others marked in sombre black, for so I have been told. 
The princes of the palaces, the humble of the huts. 
All, all are duly writ therein, who run in earthly ruts, 
And we are taught, and we believe, that when we reach the end. 
Our record will be registered, with little chance to mend 
The lives we leave behind us. There'll be much for us to tell 
And perhaps a path to glory if they think we have done well ! 

And I'm thinking that the guardian who takes his pen in hand 
Will write the Doctor's name, in glowing characters that stand 
Beneath a caption that shall read, "They Are the Salt of Earth, 
And Heaven their Inheritance, for they have proved their 
Worth!" 



67 



TO MR. SELFISH STAY-AT-HOME 

He does not have to fight, this chap, he eats three squares a 

day. 
Each week he gets an envelope filled with substantial pay, 
He has a roof above his head, a shelter from the snow 
And comfortably he lies in bed the while northeasters blow. 
He wears good clothes, he can afford to smoke or take a drink — 
His name is Selfish Stay-at-Home. Unlucky? I don't think! 

He is a man I'm sorry for — his worries are immense ! 
The cost of living is enough to rid him of his pence, 
No loads of coal are driven up beside his cottage door, 
(He has a couple tons concealed beneath the kitchen floor). 
He howls because he cannot get some sugar for his tea, 
He doesn't stop to think of folk who starve across the sea ! 

I know how tough it is for him, his wife and children all, 
How economic he must be in order not to fall. 
How closely he must guard each coin, how wisely he must spend 
His earnings so that credit with the grocer will not end. 
I know all these, and so do you — and yet if he won't give. 
Some day he may ask Kaiser Bill to let his family live ! 



68 



To Mr. Selfish Sta^-at-Home 69 

Indeed he has my sympathy — this mian who cannot fight, 
Misfortune seems to dog his steps, it hardly seems quite right 
That he should be so badly used, while others better fare, 
For instance those in olive drab in battle "over there." 
Compared with them, you will admit, his treatment is a shame. 
Somebody should investigate and find who is to blame! 

You are familiar with the cause, its mission is quite plain, 
The Red Cross is the healing balm — like sunshine after rain — 
To wounded bodies, tired hearts and weary souls that near 
That port to which we all must go — with them, there is no fear ! 
God knows 'tis little that they ask. Come ! selfish interests toss ! 
And cheerfully donate a bill to help the brave Red Cross ! 



THE TOP OF HER LIST 

She's buying Christmas presents in the same big-hearted way, 
She has planned some new surprises for the kids on Christmas 

day, 
There'll be books for little sister and a sled for sturdy John, 
And a regular slate for Buddie he can draw real pictures on ! 
There'll be skates and tools and candy hanging on a tinseled tree 
In a wondrous, dreamed-of setting to arouse the wildest glee, 
And the noise will rouse the household and the households all 

around 
Will awake and all their clamor till the neighborhoods resound 
With the cheers of happy children — and she won't be so forlorn 
With the little ones who love her making merry Christmas 

mom! 

She's buying Christmas presents — and there's one who tops the 

list, 
When the kids are romping madly he'll be one who will be 

missed. 
The oldest of the family, one of whom they are most fond 
Who will eat his Christmas rations in a village 'cross the pond. 
Who was young enough to stay here, but was man enough 

to go, 
Didn't really think they'd need him, but he thought they might, 

you know! 
Thought the way the thing was going that perhaps there'd be 

a chance 
To do something for his country — and there was ! He went to 

France. / 

70 



The Top of Her List 71 

So she's buying Christmas presents — and that youngster heads 

them all, 
Why, she started thinking of him in the early part of fall. 
And she spent her money wisely for the things she thought he'd 

need. 
With a bit of home-made sweet-meats and a box of favorite 

weed, 
And she bought them in good season and she packed the box 

with care. 
With the hope that he would have it Christmas morning over 

there. 

She's buying Christmas presents and of course she's not alone. 
For throughout the land good mothers have provided for their 

own. 
And the folks who have no laddies or a brother in the fray, 
Knov^ the sacrifice they're making — and a large part of their 

pay 
From the daily grind is going into gifts that will bring cheer 
To the best blood of the nation when the holiday draws near. 

Yes, she's buying Christmas presents cheerfully as in the past. 
With a string of love bound 'round them that through all the 

years shall last. 
And the gifts that make the journey in a transport's musty hold. 
To a lonesome boy at Christmas greater far will be than gold ! 

^ jjs >is ^ 

And after all is said, as one friend to another 
Who is a better pal to a hoy than his oum mother? 



THE PLAYER OF PRANKS 

Up in a little old hill town where they rise in the early morn 
To feed the cows and horses and scatter the chicks their com, 
Where they're done with the toil of harvest, resting up until 

spring, 
And taking the dragging winter months in which to have their 

fling. 
There's a constable, painter of houses, farmer and all-round 

man, 
A jack of all trades, I take it, who jokes as much as he can, 
Roughing it now, if need be, and if need be, gentle and good, 
And walking the church aisle Sunday as a worthy villager 

should. 
Making the pathway brighter because of his wish to smile, 
But finding it hard to do so now, as he will for a long, long 

while ! 

For overseas in the trenches, in the gases and grime and mud, 
Where the smoke is clouding the sunlight and the dew a mixture 

of blood. 
Where the Hand-Men of Hell have crowded the angelic host 

from sight 
And death stalks forth in the morning, nor pauses to sleep at 

night, 
There's a youngster of his who's keeping the faith that his 

grand-dad kept, 
One of the many million boys who swift to the colors swept 
When the call of an April morning came — and the country's 

trails 
Were choked with a nation's loyal lads — for America never 

fails! 

72 



The Placer of Pianks 73 

Yes, up in the little old hill town where they rise in the early 

mom 
He's playing his pranks as he always has, but I know he's a mite 

forlorn; 
A rough old constable-painter, who talks of his boy with pride 
And tells of the letters that come to him from over the other 

side. 
And he's bought him a service flag, crimson and white and blue, 
With a single blue-bodied star to show that his boy is fighting 

for you. 
A rough old constable-painter, but one of a race of men, 
And I hope with all of my heart and soul that his boy comes 

back again! 



WITH THE ROSES 

I know a garden where pink roses grew, 

Killamey roses of the rarest kind, 
That nodded sweetly when the south wind blew. 

And seemed in everyone a friend to find. 
I saw them every morning in their bowers, 

And others felt, I'm sure, the same as I, 
That Life was good and sweet those summer hours. 

And breathed their thanks that they might pass them by. 

The roses now are gone, the garden's bare. 

The stems long since have withered and decayed, 
The frost has brought its chilling presence there — 

Ah ! how I wish the roses might have stayed ! 
And yet I know that in the coming Spring 

The cold will flee and slender shoots appear, 
Then June, and all the joys the flowers bring 

Under a sky that's deep and blue and clear ! 

Thus, little woman, there will come the time 

When, like my roses he'll come back to you, 
Weary from fighting in a foreign clime, 

Eager to find you waiting, brave and true. 
He will be looking for the old-time smile. 

He will be hungry just to hear you sing. 
Just like my roses ! Gone a little while ! 

Then home, please God ! And may it be in Spring ! 



74 



TO A MOTHER 

They've called your boy! Through the long day 
You find the house so lonely and so still, 

Though in the yard the neighbor's children play 

And scream their games, as thoughtlessly they will. 

You do not hear or mind, you only know 

The boy you cuddled and the boy you kissed, 

And rocked to slumber in the sunset glow, 

Has marched away ! And, O, how he is missed ! 

There is no cheery whistle up the street. 

Nor quickened step upon the narrow stair. 

And sounds as of the tread o£ marching feet 
Do not deceive ! You know he is not there. 

The day goes by, autumnal shadows fall. 
Across the valley lights begin to gleam. 

Weird pictures form upon the papered wall. 

And darkness brings an ending to your dream. 

I know your dream ! It just concerns a boy 

Who comes back home to hold you in his arms, 

His duty done — then yours and his the joy 
To be together, after war's alarms. 

"And darkness brings an ending?" Ah, but no! 

Your dream shall come again, with each new day. 
And since your love and faith deserve it so. 

May both the dream and boy return — to stay I 



75 



THE FORTUNATE KIDS 

The kids who live on our street, 

They soon tire calling names 
At each other, and the time comes 

When they've had enough of games, 
Then they gather at the corner. 

Where they formulate a plan 
For the regular weekly visit 

With the old Grand Army man. 

The kids who live on our street, 

They're the luckiest I know, 
Other boys must read of battles 

To find out if things are so ; 
They depend on books and pictures 

To learn how the fights began. 
They don't get the first hand stories 

From an old Grand Army man. 

The kids who live on our street. 

They delight to hear him tell 
Of the day when he enlisted, 

How he fought with Grant a spell; 
They can see the old lips quiver 

As his care-worn face they scan, 
And it makes them feel like crying 

With the old Grand Army man. 



76 



The Fortunate Kids 77 

The kids who live on our street, 

From the mountains to the sea, 
They have smelled the smoke of conflict 

In defeat and victory, 
They have watched his comrades falling 

In red rivulets that ran. 
Making crimson cloaks of glory 

For the old Grand Army man. 

The kids who live on our street. 

They will grow up tall and strong. 
All will take their worldly places. 

Most of them where they belong; 
They will meet life's hardships bravely, 

And when they complete their span, 
They'll be thankful for those hours 

With the old Grand Army man. 



SAFE IN PORT 

In the port of a little Spanish town on the coast of a far off sea, 

There's the second mate of a sunken ship who had bidden good- 
bye to me, 

Had bidden good-bye, but not for aye, for he said that he'd soon 
be back. 

And he gave me a grip with a strong young hand and was off 
for the wavy track! 

Off for the wavy track and thickening clouds of mist, 
O, it's a call for resolute men that he never can resist ! 
Mist and a ship that rolls, mist and a starland bright — 
And God, who is watching o'er him, keeping him safe 
tonight ! 

Bravely he sailed for the land of France full knowing what lay 

before. 
He had smelled the scent of a submarine — and he said that he 

wanted more, 
I asked, suppose that your ship went down, would you fear for 

your life and limb? 
And he told me then with his sunny smile, if there wasn't a boat 

he'd swim! 
Well, the days went by and we didn't hear, though we knew 

when the ship was due, 
And his mother oft in her little room would pray for the roving 

crew. 
And about the time that he should be home we heard that his 

ship was lost, 

78 



Safe in Port 79 

With twenty survivors safe in port and the rest on the wild seas 

tossed. 
They gave no names and they told no more, we sought for the 

news in vain, 
And the days and nights that followed slow brought nothing but 

fear and pain. 
Hours in which there was little sleep, much hoping and silent 

prayer — 
Then the cable came from the port in Spain to tell that their boy 

was there! 

* >i« * ^ 

Now he isn't akin to me, you know, lest it be in a broader sense, 
But a friend of mine, so I guess that I could share in his dad's 

suspense. 
And I know that the nation feels the same for a lad and the 

folks at home, 
And glad that he's spared to sail again through the spray of a 

friendly foam! 

It's off for the wavy track and thickening clouds of mist, 
O, it's a call for resolute men that he never can resist ! 
Mist, and a ship that rolls, mist and a starland bright — 
And God, who is watching o'er him in a port of Spain 
tonight ! 



THIS THANKSGIVING 
(1917) 

It cannot be the same, of course, this year, 

There will be feasting in a quiet way, 
She will be thankful to Him for the cheer 

Blessing her table this Thanksgiving Day. 
There will be things to occupy her mind. 

And of them all her boy is uppermost, 
There on the battle-line for all mankind 

Her spirit guides him at his lonely post. 

Of course it will not be the same this year, 

He'll be away— except within her heart — 
Because he asks, she will not speak of fear, 

And steels herself that she may do her part. 
And so she works, and working, ever prays, 

And prayer supplies the strength her frailness needs. 
To help her through the darkness of the days. 

Waiting for word from him and of his deeds. 

And so it will not be the same this year. 

He will be missed from his accustomed place. 
His mother, as she toils, will hide a tear 

And wish that she could see her soldier's face ; 
But she is brave and will not show her grief, 

She'll smile and be as gay as any there. 
For she has faith, and with that faith belief 

That he'll return to fill the vacant chair. 



80 



A CHRISTMAS BOX FOR CY 

They packed a Christmas box for Cy, 

A Christmas box crammed full of stuff ! 
The chums to whom he said good-bye. 

They could not seem to buy enough ! 
The regulations made them cease 

With seven pounds — yet Cy will grin 
And dreams of home and scenes of peace 

Will all be his, when that comes in ! 

They packed a Christmas box for Cy, 

And overseas it soon will go, 
To bring a glad light to his eye 

And loving thoughts of them, I know. 
With haste hell tear the strings away 

To find the gifts his friends have sent. 
In that far land on Christmas day — 

And God is good ! — hell be content. 



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